


Spider-Man: Going Home

by SpideyFics



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Gen, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-21
Updated: 2019-09-21
Packaged: 2020-10-25 14:57:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,436
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20726087
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SpideyFics/pseuds/SpideyFics
Summary: Exhausted and grief-stricken, Peter makes his way home to May after the final battle, and reunites a family along the way.





	Spider-Man: Going Home

After (_Mr. Stark died_) the final battle to defeat Thanos (_oh God, Tony was dead, he’d watched him die, saw the life leave his eyes, heard his heart falter then stop, and it was like losing Ben all over again_), Peter had been shepherded to the only part of the Avengers Compound that had been left standing. He let the guiding hand on his shoulder push him down on to a crate, barely registering the fact that Captain America had been the one steering him, a strong arm wrapped around Peter’s back. The Peter of six months ago (_not six months, five years, but he couldn’t think about that right now_) would have stuttered and stammered with fanboy enthusiasm, but he was emotionally numb as the other man took a seat next to him on his own crate.

Paramedics arrived – but not the kind that Peter was used to in Queens, that would patch him up without asking any questions, engage in some friendly banter, and send him on his way. These paramedics were quiet and efficient, obviously part of some government agency, and they made their way around the room without any reassuring small talk. How did you comfort a superhero?

A woman crouched in front of him, her sweet, round face friendly and kind despite her sober, hushed manner. “Sir, can you remove your mask, please? You’re bleeding, and I need to determine where from.”

Peter had automatically reactivated his mask after … after it ended, so used to protecting his identity that it was second nature now. He retracted the nanites back into the containment unit nestled between his shoulder blades, leaving him in his original suit. The woman shone a penlight in his eyes and ran some kind of scanning device over his body, before he turned his head this way and that at her direction. She sprayed something over a wound at his temple and at the back of his head, told him he had a mild concussion, two broken ribs that were showing signs of already knitting back together, a badly sprained ankle and a dislocated knee that had popped itself back into place, then moved on to her next patient.

He was vaguely aware of other people joining them, a veritable parade of superheroes and warriors, but they faded into insignificance as Rhodey and Pepper walked in.

But it wasn’t just Rhodey and Pepper. Tony was in the metal cradle of Rhodey’s arms, and Peter had a completely inappropriate flashback to _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows_, Harry playing possum in Hagrid’s arms, and for a moment, he expected Tony to sit up and say he was fine, he was _fine_, what were they all sitting around moping for, but he was obviously, painfully, dead. Someone had retracted the suit - except for around his right arm and chest, where the metal had melted into his burned skin - and he looked smaller in death, so pale and still and silent, but as in life, his presence filled the room, demanding the attention of everyone there.

Peter wiped at the tears that had been steadily running down his face since Tony had snapped his fingers and stood up. The rest of the room followed, standing in silent respect and bowing their heads for the man who had sacrificed his life to keep his world safe, much as they had knelt in his honor out on the battlefield.

When they passed Peter, Pepper stopped as Rhodey continued on through the room, and cupped his cheek with her hand. Like Rhodey, she was still clad in her suit, but had retracted the armor from her hands, and her touch was gentle and soothing. He closed his eyes and brought his hand up to cover hers. “Pepper, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, if I’d known he was going to do that I’d have stopped him, I … I’d have done it instead, nobody would have missed me, I’ve been gone so long …”

Pepper brought her other hand up to pull him into a hug. “Sweetheart, don’t say that. Don’t you _dare _say that. Tony loved you so much he figured out time travel because he couldn’t live in a world where he didn’t try everything to bring you back.” She was fierce and magnificent despite her bloodied face and red, tear-swollen eyes, and he didn’t know how she was able to function when he felt like he was being crushed by his grief. “I love you, your aunt loves you, your friends love you. Don’t cheapen Tony’s death by thinking so little of yourself.” She kissed his forehead and stepped back, taking a deep breath that stuttered with repressed tears. “I need to take care of Tony. When you get back to the city, May is waiting for you in the tower.”

He watched her go, so strong and determined even in the face of what must be one of the worst moments in her life, and dropped back onto his crate, his legs suddenly unwilling to hold his weight. He pressed his hands over his face, concentrating on the feeling of the air moving in and out of his lungs, on the pain of his broken ribs as his chest expanded with each breath in. He welcomed the discomfort – it made it hard to think, which was fine by him, he didn’t want to think, didn’t want to process everything that had happened in a single day that spanned five years. Five years in which Tony had a life without him and apparently worked out how to _time travel_ and Peter wanted to hug him a couple more times and ask how he circumvented the Deutsch Proposition but he couldn’t do that, he was never going to be able to talk to Tony ever again and it _hurt._

“Queens.”

He looked up to find Cap staring at him with shock on his face. “Yes, sir?”

“You’re a kid. I mean, I guessed you were young, but you can’t be more than sixteen, seventeen.” Cap ran a hand across his mouth, obviously distressed. “You shouldn’t have been out there fighting, not at your age.”

“I’m sixteen. And I had to fight. There was no way I was going to let Thanos win again.”

Cap looked him up and down, and his expression softened. “I know how that feels, Queens. Time was, I got constantly told to stand down. Kinda wish someone would tell me that now, actually. I’m tired of fighting.”

Peter shrugged, his physical and emotional exhaustion making him incapable of anything but bluntness. “Then stop. Find something that makes you happy and go fight for that instead.” Someone pressed a bottle of water and a protein bar into his hand, and he gulped down half of the water in four long swallows, desperate to wash the taste of ash and blood from his mouth. Big mistake – as soon as the cold water hit his stomach, he threw it straight back up, the retching making his ribs scream. “I want to go home,” he croaked, and he was ashamed of how childlike he sounded in that moment, but he felt terribly young and out of place, like an imposter in this room full of adults he’d idolised for as long as he could remember. He wanted his aunt, wanted her arm around him as they sat curled together on their couch, sharing a blanket and watching a movie.

A gentle weight settled over his shoulders, and he glanced down to see Doctor Strange’s red cloak draped around him. It was oddly comforting, and the cloak rippled, the hem lifting to cradle his hands in soft warmth.

Doctor Strange was standing in front of him, looking as exhausted as Peter felt, his entire frame shaking. His friend - Wong, Peter remembered Strange saying he had to contact him, back when they reappeared back on Titan - had an arm wrapped around his waist, holding him up. “Mr. Parker, I am almost entirely magically spent, but I have enough reserves to open a portal to the Sanctum. You are more than welcome to travel with us, should you choose.”

Peter was on his feet in a moment. “Yes. Yes please. Um - if we’re allowed to go. Do we have to talk to someone about what happened? Like, give a statement or something …?”

Strange moved his hands and opened a portal, much smaller than the multiple gateways he had opened to bring everyone to upstate New York. “I have no intention of waiting around any longer, Mr. Parker. I trust that people know where to find us should they need to.” With that, he stepped through the portal, and Peter could see him waiting with Wong.

Cap stood and held out a hand for Peter to shake, clapping his shoulder. “Go home kid. You fought well, you deserve a rest. Strange is right – if you’re needed for anything, someone will find you.”

Without thinking about it, Peter stepped forward and hugged the man, who froze for a moment and then returned the embrace. Peter had always been an impulsive hugger – he blamed his aunt, who dispensed hugs as freely as her sarcasm – and he worried that he’d overstepped his boundaries, but Cap seemed as much in need of physical comfort as Peter, and slapped his back a couple of times.

When they broke apart, Peter could see tears in Cap’s eyes, and it nearly broke him to see the other man, the symbol of America’s strength and patriotism, hurt and lost and so utterly human.

“Take care of yourself, Brooklyn,” Peter said softly, as he turned towards the portal.

“You too, Queens. You did good.”

Peter stepped from the compound, with the smell of burning and blood still in his nostrils, to a quiet, tranquil foyer, soft pre-dusk light filtering through the large windows and illuminating the dust motes in the air.

As soon as he set foot on the intricately tiled floor of the Sanctum, Doctor Strange closed the portal and dropped to his knees with a thud, too suddenly for Wong or the cloak to break his fall.

Peter knelt next to him, concerned, and placed a hand on his shoulder. “Doctor Strange? Sir? Are you ok?”

Strange nodded, rocking forward on to his hands and letting his head hang down. “I need to rest. As do you, Mr. Parker. Wong can show you to a room until you can locate your family.”

“There’s only my aunt, I don’t even know if she disappeared five years ago like we did.” He began to panic, his breathing becoming rapid and shallow. “I – I have to go and find her, thank you for bringing me back.” With another unpredictable and spontaneous hug for each of the men, Peter dashed towards the door, threw it open and stumbled down the steps.

He found himself in what was unmistakably Greenwich, but a very different Greenwich to the one he was used to. The streets were full of people wandering aimlessly, shocked expressions on their faces, and Peter guessed they were people who had been dusted and returned, confused and disoriented. His experience of turning to dust had been a long thirty seconds of intense creeping pain and an overwhelming sense of _wrong wrong wrong something’s wrong_, followed by what felt like a blink, and then he was back on Titan with Doctor Strange, other Peter, bug lady, and tattoo guy. He’d found it hard enough to comprehend, even knowing what Thanos had planned, so he could only imagine what it was like for the people who had no clue what had gone down. He was a little disoriented himself; in the space of a couple of hours he’d fought a battle, died, been resurrected, fought in another huge battle, and watched someone he loved like a father die, and everything felt surreal, like he was watching a movie. He was pretty sure he was disassociating a little.

He limped along the street with the intention of finding an intersection so he could orient himself, but had barely walked for thirty seconds before he found a little girl crying, sitting on the curb and clinging to a tiny baby. When she saw him, she gasped, even as she continued to cry. “S-Spider-Man. I want my mommy and daddy.”

He sat next to her and she snuggled in against his side so trustingly that it made warmth surge through his chest. She was so tiny and fragile and she trusted _him_.

“Can you keep a secret?” he whispered to her, and she nodded. “My name is Peter and I want my aunt. What’s your name?”

She took a big, shuddering breath and wiped her face against her shoulder. “I’m Mia. And this is my baby brother Jackson.”

Peter spent the next few minutes gently probing Mia for information, finding out that she was five years old, Jackson was three weeks old, and she’d last seen her mom and dad in this street when they were walking to get ice cream. Jackson had been in a stroller, which was nowhere to be seen, but when Peter carefully pulled back the blankets swaddling him he couldn’t see any injuries, so it looked like he’d reappeared safely on the ground.

By the end of their conversation, Mia had climbed into his lap, and he held her and her brother like they were made of glass, something brittle and precious. She was chattering to him like she’d known him all her life, her head resting on his chest, his arms wrapped under hers to help support the baby, who was snug and asleep in his blankets, completely unaware of the chaos around him.

“Do you know your mom and dad’s names?” he asked her, and she tilted her head back to look at him.

“My mommy is Emily and my daddy is Cody. We live at 2-A, 54 Bleecker Street.” She said her address in a rush, like she’d worked hard to memorize it, and Peter, who was already hopelessly fond of his two little sidekicks, felt a swell of affection for her. She was already moving past the trauma of sitting crying in a street for hours, her tears gone and her tiny face bright and animated.

Peter had already worked out that he was on Bleecker street, in the high 100’s, so it was probably less than half a mile to Mia’s apartment.

“We’re gonna go and see if your mommy and daddy are home, OK? I know you’re a big girl, but I’m going to carry you and Jackson because it’s really busy and I don’t want you to get lost.” He got Mia to stand, then took Jackson from her, nestling him in one arm, before hoisting her up to his hip. He’d never held a baby before, and he marvelled at how something so light and tiny would grow up to be an adult.

Mia wrapped her arms around his neck and placed her head on his shoulder. “Peter, I’m not scared now.”

“That’s good,” he said. “I’m not scared now either, because you’re so brave.” He wasn’t about to tell her he was scared that they would get to the apartment and find someone else living there, her parents nowhere to be found, but he’d cross that particular bridge if and when they came to it.

With his limp, it took him nearly fifteen minutes to reach their destination, but he and Mia sang Baby Shark over and over, making one another laugh by substituting things for ‘baby’. Mia found ‘Mia Shark’ particularly hilarious and her giggle was the best thing Peter had ever heard, and he figured if the Spider-Man gig didn’t work out, he had a future in children’s entertainment.

When they reached the apartment block, a converted warehouse that was far fancier than his and May’s apartment in Queen’s, Peter headed straight for the intercoms, and Mia bounced on his hip, pointing at a handwritten label next to the buzzer for 2-A. “That’s my name! Kaplan!”

Taking a deep breath to calm his nerves, he pressed the buzzer. “_Please answer, please answer, please answer_,” he mumbled, closing his eyes as he waited, Mia’s little face smushed up against the side of his.

He was just about to give up and go find a police station, when the intercom crackled. “Hello?” a woman said, her voice hoarse and strained. “Who is it?”

“Are you Emily Kaplan?” He had no idea how to tell someone that their children were back after five years.

“Yes I am, but we’re not expecting any callers. Please don’t bother me again.” The intercom clicked off, and despite repeated buzzing, she didn’t answer again.

Jackson was beginning to stir, his face screwing up like he was about to cry, and Peter ssh’d him, bouncing gently back and forth on his heels as he started pressing random intercom buttons, waiting for someone to let him in. He could have broken the door, but he was hesitant to cause a security issue for the building, and his patience paid off when the fifth person he buzzed opened the door with little to no persuasion needed.

The elevator opened right in front of 2-A, and Peter knocked on the door as Jackson started to let out little whimpers that sounded like he was building up to a full-on wail.

The door opened, and a woman with long, dark hair and Mia’s blue eyes looked at them then dropped to her knees, her tears sudden and immediate. “Is this real?” she asked through her sobs. “Please tell me this is real, oh _God_, please. My babies.”

Mia leaned down towards her, extending her arms, and her mother automatically reached out to pull her close, wrapping her up in an all-encompassing embrace, tight enough that Mia squeaked that it was hurting. Peter knelt next to them, Jackson starting to cry, and passed him to Emily.

“It’s real,” he assured her, reaching out to touch her shoulder. “I promise, it’s real, the Avengers fixed it, everyone is back.”

She continued to sob, her children in her arms and the grief of five years without them writ plain on her face. “I’ve been ill, I was in bed asleep, I haven’t seen any news today. I need to call Cody, he’s not even in the country. Oh my God, my babies. Thank you, Spider-Man. Thank you.”

“Spider-Man carried me and Jackson and we sang Baby Shark.” Mia pressed both of her hands to her mom’s cheeks, turning her face towards her. “But we couldn’t find Jackson’s stroller and he woke up on the floor so I looked after him.”

Emily kissed her over and over, making Mia squeal with delight. “You’re such a good girl, I love you so much.”

Peter stood up, and Mia caught at his hand. “Are you going to find your auntie?”

He nodded, on the verge of tears. “I am. She loves me like your mommy loves you, and I need to find her so she doesn’t worry any more. Thank you for looking after me, Mia.”

She flung herself at him, wrapping her arms around his legs, and he crouched so she could hug him properly and press a kiss to his face. “We were both really really brave,” she said. “If you tell your auntie you might get ice cream.”

He laughed, wiping at the tears that had started again. “I’ll tell her. You go give your mommy a big cuddle, she’s missed you loads and loads.”

As Mia stepped back and he straightened up, her mom took her place, pulling Peter in for a one-armed hug, Jackson nestled between them. “I can’t ever thank you enough. I thought they were gone forever,” she sobbed. “If you ever need anything, and I mean _anything_, you come and you find us.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” he said. “Mia looked after me and Jackson, not the other way around.” He pulled away and held out his fist for Mia to bump. “I’m glad you have your babies back.”

He left quickly, gently brushing off Emily’s insistence that he should stay, that she could see he was hurt, Mia shouting bye as the doors to the elevator closed behind him.

Back out on the street, he started walking north on Lafayette, knowing it would be a straight shot up to Park Avenue and the tower, but he quickly became exhausted and knew the two mile walk was beyond him in his current state. He was all out of web fluid, so couldn’t swing, and his ankle and knee were throbbing more and more with each step he took, making him feel nauseous.

He stopped to rest and realized that the bus to Harlem was idling at the stop just ahead of him, and he put the last of his remaining energy into a lurching sprint for the bus, flinging himself on board just before the driver shut the door. It was only when he boarded that he realized he didn’t have any money to pay his fare, and he stood in front of the driver, feeling ready to just fall apart in complete hysteria.

The driver took pity on him, jerking her head to indicate that he should move down to the seats. “No charge, Spidey. Where are you headed?”

“Stark Tower,” Peter said numbly, and the bus headed off into rush hour traffic as he stumbled to the nearest empty seat, which was miraculously a double.

The other people on the bus all had their phones out, and someone was watching the news, the volume way down, but Peter could still hear it. A news station had evidently had a drone out over the battlefield, and they were reporting that Tony had been apparently killed in action.

Peter curled in on himself, wrapping his arms around his head and resting his elbows on his thighs. It was all too much to deal with, all this sorrow and pain and tiredness overwhelming him to the point that it felt like he was about to have a complete shutdown.

A hand touched his shoulder, and he glanced up to see a guy standing in the aisle, extending a hoodie out to him. “Hey Spider-Man. You don’t have your mask on, I thought you might want this to cover up with.”

Peter hadn’t even thought about concealing his face. His mask was long gone, lost five years ago and 40,000 thousand feet up in the air, but when he glanced at his reflection in the dirty bus window, he barely recognized himself. He was very obviously a teenager, but his face was so stained with soot and blood, his eyes so swollen and deeply bruised, that there was little chance of anyone looking at him and seeing Peter Parker unless they knew him, and even then, it’d be a tough call.

He tugged the over-large hoodie on, pulling the hood up over his head and shadowing his face. “Thank you. Please don’t tell anyone you saw me without my mask.”

“Nobody is gonna say anything, man. You’re a New Yorker, we look after our own, right? We’re all just glad that you’re back, things have gone to shit without you.” He paused. “Is it true that Iron Man died? That’s what the news was saying, that he did something that made that purple fucker disappear, but it killed him.”

Peter couldn’t answer him, but his lack of response was apparently enough of a reply. “I’m sorry man, I know you guys were tight. He spoke about you every year at the memorial services.” He patted Peter’s shoulder. “Take care, Spider-Man. We’ve got you.”

The man made his way around the passengers, telling them not to take photos of Peter, or even mention seeing him on the bus. Everyone agreed readily, and his next stop was the driver, asking if there was any way she could delete the CCTV footage, and she said she’d speak to her girlfriend, who worked in the MTA control room and had access to the files.

Peter’s stop loomed and he got up, sticking his hand to a pole to help himself remain upright, standing next to the guy, who was back in his own seat. “Thanks for the hoodie and everything. If you give me your address, I’ll get it back to you.”

“Nah it’s cool, keep it. Least I can do after everything you’ve done for us. Thanks, Spider-Man.”

His thanks seemed to trigger something among their fellow passengers, a soft chorus of ‘thank you’s’ circulating the bus, culminating in cheers and applause as he stepped onto the sidewalk in front of Stark Tower. The show of appreciation and affection left him feeling raw, like all his nerve endings were exposed and sparking; he was unused to being thanked in person, and it was a little over-whelming. He’d been wandering around Greenwich for thirty minutes with his face on show, and another twenty minutes on the bus. He was now entirely at the mercy of his fellow New Yorkers, and their legendary, stubborn loyalty to their own.

He pulled the drawstring of his hoodie, cinching the fabric tightly around his face until only his eyes could be seen, and headed towards the entrance to Stark Tower. It was on lock-down, security guards posted outside, and as Peter hobbled towards them, they pointed their weapons at him, one of them gesturing for him to get down on the ground.

He held his hands up in the air, then knelt, wincing as his knee cracked, and moving his hands to link at the back of his head. “I’m Spider-Man. Pepper – Ms. Potts sent me here. Please, my aunt is inside, I just want to see her.”

A hand was tucked under his armpit, pulling him to his feet and into a tight embrace. “Kid. You’re back.”

“Happy?” Peter leaned into the man, clutching at him desperately. “Tony – Tony’s …” He couldn’t finish, couldn’t be the one to tell Happy that his friend was gone.

“I know, kid. I know.” Happy’s voice wobbled, and he reached up to pull Peter’s head against his shoulder, his big hand resting at the nape of Peter’s neck. “Let’s get you inside, May’s waiting.” He kept Peter tucked against his side, leading him past the security guards and into the building.

May was pacing back and forth in the living room, tears running unchecked down her cheeks. When she saw Peter, she let out a wounded sound, pressing her hands to her mouth before running to him, gathering him up in a hug that took them both down to the carpet. He sobbed, and she tugged open the neck of his hoodie so she could see his face, peppering kisses across his cheeks and forehead, and it was just like the reunion between Emily and Mia, the fierce, passionate love and devotion of a mother holding their child.

He slumped against her, too tired to even attempt to stay upright, and she guided him down to the floor, moving his head to rest in her lap before curling around him, one arm behind him and her other across his chest, her hand threaded through his hair. She pressed her cheek to his forehead, and he could feel her tears against his skin, smell her perfume, comforting and familiar, vanilla and cream and brown sugar.

“I was so scared,” she said brokenly. “Pepper came to the apartment and said you were helping Tony, and then the TV showed you being beamed up to a fucking _spaceship, _and FRIDAY lost contact.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered against her stomach. “May, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

She soothed him, her fingers petting through his curls. “It’s OK, baby. It’s OK.”

“Did you – you know?” He already knew the answer, but needed to hear her say it, needed to hear that she hadn’t been left mourning him for all that time, that someone he loved knew exactly how it felt to come back to a world that had moved on.

She lifted her hand from his head and fluttered her fingers through the air. “Turn to dust? Yeah, two days after you disappeared. I saw my hand start to break apart and that’s all I remember. It didn’t hurt, it was like I blinked and then I was back. Scared the shit out of the people who are living in our apartment now. I came straight here after.”

“Me too,” he said, deciding that May didn’t need to know that he’d felt the agony of his body fighting to keep itself together, a constant cycle of decay and reconstitution where his body lost just a little more each time it happened, until there was nothing left.

“I’m glad,” she said fiercely. “I’m glad that I didn’t have to live without you, because it would have killed me, Peter.”

They stayed huddled together for several long minutes, just taking comfort from being close to one another. Eventually they moved to the couch, and Peter told May about Tony, about watching and hearing him die and she cried with him again, mourning the man she’d grown to trust during his nearly two-year mentorship of Peter.

Happy, who had tactfully stepped out during their reunion, walked back into the room and cleared his throat. “Um, I hate to interrupt, but someone woke up from their nap.”

He had a sleepy little girl in his arms, and for a moment Peter thought it was Mia, but her eyes were dark brown instead of blue, and her hair was shorter, brushing her shoulders. Her eyes and her pale skin left no doubt about her parentage – she was a perfect blend of Tony and Pepper, and his grief bubbled up again at the thought that she would grow up without her father.

“Where’s daddy and mommy?” she yawned, knuckling sleep from her eyes before catching sight of Peter. “You’re Peter,” she said. “Daddy showed me your picture.”

“This is Morgan,” Happy told them, running his hand over her hair, and mouthing “she doesn’t know,” at them. Morgan wiggled in his arms and he put her down, letting her approach them with a confidence that was all Pepper and an expression that was all Tony.

“My daddy said you’re Spider-Man and that you were sent away with lots of people by a bad man,” she said, climbing up on to the couch and settling herself next to Peter. “Can you play jigsaws with me?”

Peter wanted to say yes, but Happy intervened. “Peter got hurt, Morgan. He and Aunt May are going to go down and see Aunt Helen in the med bay.” He backed that up with a frown at Peter, that made it clear it was non-negotiable and he was to get his ass down there immediately. “I’ll do jigsaws with you, OK?”

She hopped back off the couch and went to Happy, taking the hand he held out. “Let’s play in my room,” she said. “Peter, can you come and play later?”

He nodded at her, not trusting his voice, and that seemed to be enough for Morgan, who tugged Happy out of the room.

“Poor kid,” May said, standing and pulling Peter up with her. “Pepper had just enough time to tell me about her before she rushed off to help in the fight.”

Peter had felt an immediate kinship with Morgan, a shared love for her parents, and a shared sorrow, even if she was blissfully unaware for now. She looked to be about the same age he had been when his parents died and he hated that, like him, she’d have no real memories of her dad as she grew older, would be reliant on the adults around her to fill in the gaps about who he was and how he loved her.

“It’s not fair,” he murmured, and he didn’t have to explain, because of course May knew, she knew him better than anyone and understood exactly what he was thinking.

“Tony can’t be here for her anymore,” she said softly, taking his hand in hers. “But you can.”

May was right. Tony might be gone, but Morgan wasn’t. Tony was stardust, beyond pain and suffering, but his legacy remained in the form of his daughter, and Peter was determined to give her the love and guidance her father had given him. Family wasn’t always about blood; it was about love, and he’d do his very best to ensure that she knew that her father loved her so fiercely that he saved the universe just for her.

**Author's Note:**

> This story was strongly inspired by the train scene from Spider-Man 2, and my wondering what reaction an unmasked MCU Peter would get from his fellow New Yorkers.


End file.
